That's OK

That's OK

I wrote an article
on "Going After Guys
That Are Taken"

I don't know who these
girls are, who goes after these
guys

But he has a purity ring,
even though he gets around
and he was like "hello" and

I was giving him "likes" around here;
whenever I see him, he is
totally alone

Melissa is friends with him
and it's even finals season
and soon it will be "Spring Fling Season"

I will be cautious but you
know that I like sharks, not
sea-faring fish

Melissa is setting me up with him
and we have already met once, but
he would have remembered me

I feel like he will just be like
"Oh I remember that girl, NEXT!"
You are attractive. Crap? Right!

I didn't like get his number or whatever.
I am letting Melissa do the work.
Apparently he kept asking about me.

I'm scared to. But that's the make-or-break moment.

Overhearing a conversation between an English Professor and Her Pupil

Overhearing a conversation between an Englis Prof and Her Pupil

Since we empower children to 
conquer adversity 
we connect children to 
past and modern cultures

In preserving child innocence
therefore they continue to perpetuate
the assimilated harlequins in
fairy tales

I literally dropped a desk
"so extra" "salty"
"Yeah that's my-self"
" I just need to concise myself"

So here's what I'll say about that
Wordiness is not an issue as long
as it is not... like repetitive
"like fluff" 

When you are using a lot
of extra words, it seems
like you don't know what you
are talking about

(I sneeze. They bless me)

It's good writing,
but you didn't answer the question.
Oh ok, so what then
You have convinced us that they need to continue

what would you do with you next step? 
Yeah! You can be the next Steve Jobs- kind of thing
Then use those ones as a topic sentence...
you can do more than 8, no less than a full 6.

Those 3 topics, I do want to still with those
all on the same point
Right, the same point.

Grinding

Grinding

A black glove coils and
grips the rubberized handle
on which a mechanized blade
settles to spray
metallic sparks and fireworks
and metal works and pain

a brown hand holds the hard
pestle like a pistol or pencil
pensively perched on some hipster's
Arabica Beans about to be Coffee;
they crush and curdle, they crumble
from cracked knuckles for cups of crafted

Joe, feet firmly planted, feeling Phoebe's
inner-thigh, his tiny teenage turgid
member gets him feeling kinda high, while he paws
around her pelvis, her arms up into the sky and
the music is still thumping and still pumping
so I ask - why, oh why (!)

must we push it?

10000 page views

10000 Page Views 

Holy fucking hell! I have

10000 page views, there

are so many eyeballs and 

clicks that I'm dancing my 

chair and then

when I flip between the 

published version and the

draft and then I click back

I get 3 more

I get 3 more 

I click back and forth again

and there are 10 

and I'm sure 

I've done this 1000 times

so all of them 

are 

from 

me. 

Not 10000 people. Just one

sad little boy 

masturbating 10000 times. 

The One Thing I Hate

The One Thing I Hate

There are many things
that I hate
but the thing I hate most of
all is unwarranted success

I hate the fucking lottery
and I hate the scratch offs
and I hate the country that makes
that the goal

I hate people who have won from
physical apperance or from pure talent
or from fucking birthright; I hate
me

I love hard work
I love weeds in gutter-cracks
I love growing pains and
I hate lethargy

but I'm fat and dumb and I never write
and I have doubts about my readership
I have my doubts about you,
I don't think you are really there

and that I might hate most of all.

Everything Is Fire

Everything Is Fire

The moment you think
you know what you are
talking about, you are
full of shit

because, still,
everything is fire
everything is flux
there is not time

like desire, we
have only been
put here to fuck.
To fuck the earth

to fuck the pain
to drill and spill
and lose
and gain

These words are fire
and so are your eyes
everything is fire
and everything is lies.

Stroll thru Paris

With my eyes closed,
I can stroll thru Paris
like a fast-food meal
of imagination

The dogs and the stone streets
the broken bottles near my
faux leather shoes, ice cream,
and cigarettes and deep red lips


And there, when I look up
There is a billboard of
my mother, naked
in the shower

my mother, young with
the fullest bush and
tattered breasts, with
pink hotel soap-suds

and I remember
I have never been to
Paris, and I only know it
from a movie punchline

Mermaids of my mind

Anxiety is actually a terrible pain

It makes me understand why people drink and do

Heroin

I am a pre-junkie

I am a caught fly in a wet web

I am still skating on the pond of consciousness

Crack Ice Crack

That smell of frozen

Cold

Discomfort so numbless

Just fire; everything is fire

Tantrums and anthems

Our virtues held ransom

I know what I’ve become

And old old old filthy

Dirty finger-nailed

Fuck, with brutal

Retching and I

Don’t enjoy any of

The stuff that makes you

Alive. I still want to

Die. i still want to

Die. Let me just

Live. Sleep now with

Mermaids of my mind;

Sleep alone Jason.

Pain

Pain

To call a poem pain
you must have something
strong to say, so here:

There is a fanged spider
that crawls out of my insides
and into the cavity of my mouth

There, it is perched like
a fiddler crab and now
it runs out and

down over my shoulder
and skitters out onto
my finger tips to you;

Nuclear destruction
Torture and blood
knives and bones are nothing

compared to a whole life
in the prison of a mind
that only wants to be understood,

but has no audience.
An eternal forest of falling trees
that fall in silence.

Falling Asleep at the Wheel

Falling Asleep at the Wheel

Medication that isn’t balanced right and

A night of panic attacks

Here I am

Falling asleep at the wheel

Beside me are cars and walls and

Yellow Wallpaper and

Pitchforks and bowler hats with apples

There are honking horns and

Clouds that shape of bricks

There are computer keys and

Foie gras on water crackers

There is a taco bell sign

Where the bell is moving

And it’s cracked, our

Liberty bell is a Taco Bell

And it’s still so cracked

And it’s still hollow.

Don't think

Don't think.

You go into this
Thing thinking
And to that I say
Don't think

You have your skirt
Up high and your
Long jacket and your
Brown leather boots

Don't think about the
Budding breasts
Don't think about
The heaving chest

In the back of a
Two door civic
With the automatic
Transmission and

The green light coming
From your adolescent
Vocal cords / don't think
About your problems

Don't think about the
Future and the other side
Don't think about the new
Me waiting on the porch

With heat and humidity
And the buggy Florida blanket
Heaped on my mind
My daughter, you are my everything

Don't think about your pain
You're not going out with
That boy anymore
Don't even think about it

Shoes, Breakfast

Sometimes I feel like my shoes are talking to me

There they sit with two open mouths

Surprised and yelling

Or maybe waiting for me to fill them
For me to give them purpose
They are waiting in the dentists chair
Wsiting to work,
Some glum  florescently lit office

Instead I hope they are yawning
Just waking up and looking for
Foot-shaped breakfast
Because this morning, that
Is what they are getting

A Coffin

A coffin

What kind of words would
Wilt the lilies
With the wafting of their breath

Glory! Oh morning glories!

Twirl your taught tendrils
And wring out the light
From my stocky chest

What weeds come with
Perfect purple and inviting pedals,
Such silent smotherers  

Only to close up shop
When the midday sun
Beats its brightest;

Hold fast my twirling nymph,
Hold fast Wife
For as you grow, I diminish

You drainer of my life.

Watercolour

My mother, who has been divorced
three times, takes yearly trips
alone
to Europe

And there, her tanned and
wrinkled '60s beach body
made it to its 60s and
she doesn't care

she will still lay
out, in the sun,
brown and orange,
soaking in the sunbathing waves

Now. I'm supposed to be watching
my daughter
who has been sprayed
by the garden hose

she hands me a white-faced
dolly
and runs over to strum
my guitar, unintelliably.

now she is looking through the slats in the door
and wants to hold the glass trincuts
that are just out of reach
she says "me" "Hold" "no"

Hold Dada
Hold!

Just always writing

You have to be writing all
the time, and it has to be good

every day, has to be something else,
something really really good

or else, why; why do you
matter

why read, if it's not
all the time

and it's not the best
that has ever been written

Don Draper says that it's
the best or nothing

For years I have been choosing
nothing

Now, I don't want to be the best
just something

and here it is
here is something.

The New Yorker

The New Yorker

I am have just come to
terms with the idea that I may
never be in The New Yorker;

I will also probably never
be a national book award
winner

I will definitely never, no
not ever, win a MacArther
Genius Grant, at least not for this;

if I am a genius, it will be in
the kind of way that someone
calls a neighbor that word, in their

family or after a few drinks, but I
don't even think I am the smartest person
in this conversation;

you must be doing me or
someone else some kind of
favor, if you have read this

far.

But, as the daffodils and the heather
still bloom together, I will not stop,
I will not cease, for my fingers
are at the whim of some terrible master;
they burst like the throat of a Starling
on a telephone wire, mimicking a car alarm.

Death Of A Child

Death of A Child

The cries that echo in the house
the laughs, the silly screams,
the whimiscal burst from fresh lungs
gone

taken too soon, my son
the deepest and most special piece
of your mother and father
a peace broken and gone

How come?
Who took him?
Why?
When will I see him again?

Just a baby
an innocent soul
taken from the arms of mom
and the shoulder of dad; gone

how could our God
treat us this way
and take our only son
away? He's gone

The pain, I would
never wish upon my worst enemy
a pain worse than death
an infant lost, gone

and worse than cries
and sleepless nights
is the silence, the silent tears, never
gone